


The Only Reason I’m Working with You (When You Won’t Stop Talking)

by MaskoftheRay



Series: Prompt and Circumstance [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Also I have seen some episodes and clips of YJ, Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne trying to be a good father, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I have not seen YJ, Possibly OOC, Prompt Fic, So much Damian angst I'm sorry- he's just like that, What if Impulse from YJ had to work with tiny ex-assasin baby robin?, baby ex-assasin, batfam, but I did research, but I know bat family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 03:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18460724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: Prompt: Damian is forced by some circumstances to work with Impulse. Bart Allen. The speedster who will. Not. Stop. Talking!!!!!!!! And ALWAYS runs off into battle before a plan is set or instructions are given. And ALWAYS wants to goof off. And did I mention he never stops talking??? With the serious, focused, no-nonsense, ex-assassin, son of Batman. If this is too much of a Chernobyl recreation, add another character, maybe Jon Kent. Extra points, though if you can pull off the Chernobyl.My idea: Damian is benched for injuries, but Impulse calls one day in need of back-up in a fight against Weather Wizard. Damian thinks: What's the worst that can happen?





	1. Prequel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mystik_Owl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystik_Owl/gifts).



> "Father, please forgive me, for I have sinned."
> 
> "Confess, and be absolved."
> 
> "I took *whispers* more than two months to fulfill a prompt request."
> 
> "..."
> 
> "I know."
> 
> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVERRRRR. My only excuses are that I was petrified of screwing this up, couldn't come up with a good idea for a while, and then got buried under a _literal_ avalanche of work. So I wrote you a long-ass fic... hope that helps. 
> 
> So, I kind-of managed Chernobyl? Maybe? You can be the judge of that. I cheated a little, in the very beginning, and at the end but... all things considered? I tried my best to stay true to the characters. As I said in the tags, my success may not actually be that successful, but I hope you like it anyways. I did my best to write this well, anyhow. 
> 
> Also, I do not own these characters or DC Comics.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a week before the events of the actual fic.

“Tt.” The soft exclamation of distaste echoed throughout the empty cave. Over head, a few bats squeaked. Damian glared up at the _Myotis lucifugus_ in distaste; usually he liked animals, though Father and the rest of his misbegotten brood remained unaware of the fact. However, tonight was different, because he was stuck in the echoing dankness of the cave. Batman had left him behind. 

As more of the nocturnal animals chittered and fluttered about, Damian’s scowl deepened. Unconsciously, he adjusted his seat, and winced a bit at the movement of his leg. He cursed, glancing around the lifeless cave. Nobody was there, but it did not ease the slight prick of tension he felt. Mother, if she had seen his display of weakness, would not have approved. The stitches in his arm itched. 

The sound of a faint rumbling— no doubt the Batmobile and Gotham’s resident vigilantes— further disturbed the bats. Damian turned back to the computer in a cool display of indifference. If his superior skill set over the likes of Drake were to be ignored, then Father should not expect a ‘warm welcome,’ as the American idiom went. It was hardly logical to suspend Damian from field work as Robin when he merely had a broken ankle, and a stitched-up gash in his arm. He had had far worse at a younger age. In fact, he had defeated fully-grown league assassins with worse; no thanks to Mother, either, as she’d been the one to do some of the hurting. 

It made his flesh bristle, and something deep-down inside that he did not name feel like curling up… It was shame, but not in the way he was used to. He was used to Mother snapping at him for failure, for weakness. He was used to feeling shame for disappointing Grandfather. But Father? The man was strange in his whims, and Damian was coming to find, not at all like Mother had told him the man would be. For one, Damian was not admired as ‘the blood son’ as he (rightfully) should have been. In fact, Father had diluted the honorable house of Wayne by taking in the likes of Drake, and filth like Todd; grudgingly, Damian did admit that Grayson wasn’t so bad, could have been good, in fact, if the league had trained him. 

So lost in his thoughts was Damian that he almost— almost— startled when Father materialized behind him, silent as a panther, deadly as plague, and clapped a hand on the top of the computer chair. Even if his startle had been aborted, Father must have sensed it, because his expression softened from steel to stone, and he asked, tone low and gravelly, but not angry, “Damian, what are you doing down here?” 

Damian’s mouth went dry for a second, and his mind spun, first through Arabic, then through English, for a reason. He was… confused. Father, as far as he was aware, had not banned him from the cave (though, Damian did admit now, he had probably meant that too when he’d benched Robin). “I… I was merely assisting you, Father. As I cannot patrol, it is clear that I must make myself useful in other ways,” Damian said, proud of the smooth delivery. 

However, Father seemed less-than-impressed. His previously ‘neutral’ scowl flattened further into displeasure, and he flipped back the cowl to reveal hard, tired eyes. They fluttered shut for a second, in frustration, before Father fixed his gaze on Damian. “Damian…” he said, sounding castigating, “I told you no Robin. You need to recover. Now, why don’t—” 

“—you said no Robin, Father!” Damian exclaimed, ignoring the dangerous arch in Father’s eyebrows, “and I have not done anything related to Robin! I am recovering.” 

After a hard, silent minute of blue determined eyes meeting blue determined eyes, their stand-off was broken by the reappearance of… Drake. He seemed, as usual, oblivious. He was fresh from a shower and was just tugging down his shirt as he walked over to where Bruce and Damian were… glaring. “Hey, B… Damian,” he greeted. Father sighed again before giving Damian one last disapproving glare. He turned away to focus on Drake and Damian tried to ignore the seething ball of resentment, and anger, at that. 

“Tim, why don’t you head on up? I need to talk to Damian. But good work tonight, kid,” Bruce said. And there was affection, easy, open, warm, in his tone that never seemed to be there for his son. For his real son. For Damian. It hurt. Mother, though demanding, had always focused on him. 

As if responding to Damian’s inner angst, Drake smiled at Father’s praise and gave an awkward half-wave to Father as he said, “Sure. Thanks B. Good night.” He did not, it was glaringly obvious, wish any such thing as a ‘good night’ to Damian. After a long moment where the only noises were the pinging of the slowly-cooling Batmobile engine, the chittering of the bats, and their breathing, Father turned once again to him. 

“Damian,” he said quietly, sounding even more tired, “when I ask you to do something, it isn’t to hurt you. I’m not— look. I’ve done this for a long time, and if your body doesn’t get enough rest, you will make mistakes in the field. Or get hurt. Or worse. So please, son, listen.” Damian felt a little jab in his heart at the ‘s’ word, but he still scowled. It was the principle of the thing. 

“But Father! You never rest. And Mother—” 

Father’s eyes snapped wide and he said, probably more harshly than intended, “It DOES NOT matter what your Mother thinks here, Damian. Not while you’re under my roof. And, yes, while I do not stay in as frequently as I ask you to, that is because I am a fully-grown man, and as previously stated, have a lot more experience than you, and therefore, know my limits better. From now on, I expect you to listen when I bench you. Is that clear?” Damian looked down for a minute, fists clenched. Though he wanted to deny Father’s speech, clearly the man believed it and would accept nothing less than full compliance. 

“Yes, Father.” 

“Good. Now, why don’t we head upstairs and let’s both go to bed.” 

“Tt. Very well, if you insist.” And then, to Damian’s surprise, Father scooped him up as if he weighed no more than a pillow, and headed to the stairs. Damian tried not to squawk in surprise, though he did let out one noise of protest. Secretly however (he’d rather have more teeth pulled than admit it) he was… happy.


	2. One Week Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The actual story.

Damian was still benched. He would be benched until Father, Pennyworth, and Thompkins were satisfied with his recovery. And Damian was bored out of his mind. He had finished all his school work, not that he cared for it, or for Gotham Academy, with its sniveling students, simpering teachers, and stifling rules. It was early afternoon, and Father and Drake wouldn’t be home for hours. Grayson no longer lived at the manor, and Pennyworth was busy with his household butlery duties. So, it was a bit of a surprise to hear chatter coming from Damian’s comm. Specifically, the comm. he’d given to Young Justice. 

“Hey, anyone there? It would be really crash if somebody could back me up right about now! YIKES. Guys, guys, guys, this is mayday. Impulse in trouble.” 

If Damian were inclined to groan, and he was not, he would be doing it now. The youngest of the Flash family was not a person Damian was overly… fond of. Just like Father and the Flash patriarch, Damian took issue with the youngest speedster because of, essentially, his whole being. Impulse was loud, Impulse had no brain-to-mouth filter (if one could say he even had a brain), Impulse was overly confident, and Impulse was, well, impulsive. He also was constantly in danger of destroying the time stream, something Damian took quite seriously, as he happened to hold a certain… fondness for things staying as they currently were. 

Out of the limited times he had worked with Impulse, and the others on the young speedster’s team, Damian could not say he had enjoyed it terribly much. However, Damian was bored and itching for action. Father usually had some sort of lecture prepared for Damian when he complained about his fellow heroes-in-training (he resented that title when applied to himself) so Damian imagined that the man could not be too furious with him if Damian were, say, to sneak out of the manor to help Impulse. “This is Robin. State your problem, Impulse.” 

A low groan echoed over the comm. “Aw man, this is the un-fun Robin, isn’t it? Where’s Tim?” Oh, as if this could not get any better. Damian sucked in a breath and pictured himself mutilating Impulse. 

“Codenames, Impulse! And Drake is unavailable. I am afraid that if you are truly pathetic enough to need assistance, I, the ‘un-fun’ Robin, am all you have. So tell me what the nature of your problem is.” 

“Freak dude! Okay, okay. It’s Weather Wizard. He’s tearing up the Central ‘burbs, and usually I could handle it, but well, the rest of the team’s either out on other missions, or decommissioned, and Flash is busy. The situation’s kinda mode. Areyougoingtohelpmeornot?” 

Damian sucked in a breath, cursing Grayson for giving Father the idea that being on a team might “be good for Damian.” However… given the option to go out, even against a foe as lowly as Weather Wizard, or to stay cooped up in the cave, Damian rather favored the first. “Yes. Standby and hold your position, Impulse. I am on my way. Robin out.” Calmly, Damian suited up and took a spare teleport beacon from Father’s safe. 

As soon as he materialized, Damian’s senses were assaulted by noise: the wail of police sirens, ambulances, car alarms, security systems, and under that, human voices. Children screaming, the panicked calls of those left behind. The second thing Damian noticed was the chill, and the unnatural coloring of the sky; if anything, it reminded him of the huge thunderstorms that rolled through the steppes in the wet season. 

“Robin!” exclaimed a little girl. Damian startled, and scolded himself for his inattentiveness. He observed his surroundings quickly but saw no civilians in need of immediate assistance, so he continued on his way. It was not hard to estimate where the epicenter was; as long as he went the opposite direction of everyone else, he should find Impulse. As he passed by the iced-over wreck of a minivan, Damian stumbled over a bit of debris. The road was almost completely obscured by random bits of battle-damage. The street looked like the scene from the aftermath of a tornado: trash and debris spread across everything; trees half-torn from the ground. He refocused and pushed onwards. As several deadly-looking shards of shattered glass crunched under his feet, Damian was glad that Father insisted he wear reinforced boots. He heard a distant rumbling coming from a few blocks away, and as he turned to observe, several bright flashes lit up the stormy sky. 

Moving as quickly as possible through the ever-shifting landscape, Damian made note of the damage: hailstones the size of basketballs, what appeared to be the aftermath of a flood, more displaced items, fallen trees. He was close now. Another flash of lightening lit the sky, and it was almost too bright to look at, with how dark the roiling clouds were. That would be the location of Impulse then. Damian took off at a run, resolutely ignoring the melting-feeling of his leg. It was fine. There were more important matters at hand. Like protecting Impulse from meeting his end. If only Grayson and Father could see how altruistic he was being now… 

“The costume change doesn’t make a difference, Kid Flash. You’re still no match for me!” 

“The. Name’s. Impulse! Get that through your head and we’ll be crash. You know, if you stop destroying things and turn yourself in.” 

Damian hissed from his hiding spot behind a gray Toyota. Why were speedsters so loud? Weren’t they supposed to be about finishing things quickly? Another tremendous flash of lightening momentarily blinded Damian. While Weather Wizard had had no luck in hitting the young speedster, Damian was not foolish enough to put himself in the path of the deadly beams. He, especially with his leg, was not fast enough to outrun lightning. And Damian had no desire to be electrocuted. He shifted and saw Impulse’s eyes flicker to his face. Well, the speedster was good for some things after all. 

Weather Wizard cursed and the atmosphere felt thicker. The villain held up his wand, and that was when Robin acted. Keeping in mind his leg, Damian darted forward, shooting a grapple line out to the roof of the half-destroyed Starbucks building across the street. As his feet left the ground, he flew past Weather Wizard, and one black-gloved hand snatched his wand. 

He landed silently on the roof, retracted the grapple line, and snapped the wand clean in half. Less efficient than killing, but the look of surprise on Weather Wizard’s face, Damian conceded privately, was satisfactory. However, his outburst of laughter afterwards was not. As Damian was learning, when villains laughed, nothing beneficial happened. “You really think that’s the only wand I keep on me by now kid?” he asked. Impulse seemed to realize something was wrong the moment Robin did. He blurred before Damian’s vision, and Damian leapt from the roof as a bolt of lightning singed the rooftop where he had just been. It had hit so closely that Damian’s hair stood on end and the tips of his fingers tingled. 

Recovering, Damian flung a batarang at the villain, who it missed… because he was floating up into the air. This was why killing was so much easier. “Tt.” Damian rolled aside as hailstones the size of a small child began falling from the sky. Robin had a more challenging time dashing across the pock-marked road. The gray Toyota he’d hidden behind earlier was crushed. The car alarm activated in a teeth-grinding wail. Impulse appeared besides Robin in a rush of air that made Damian’s cape flutter. 

“Dude, I thought you were the deadly one. What’s the plan?” 

“Distract him—” Damian sprinted towards another rooftop. Impulse began running in a circle under Weather Wizard, which pushed him upward. Abruptly, Impulse stopped moving, and the concussive force flung the villain into the nearest building. Damian leapt over the edge of the roof and hissed as he landed. His leg was throbbing. He cursed quietly and pushed onward. It was important he reach the villain in time. Weather Wizard was now on the ground, hurtling shards of ice at Impulse, who of course, was too fast to be hit. However, he was not above being distracted. Damian cursed again as Weather Wizard lowered his hands slightly. Ice shot from his hands and coated the road. Impulse realized what he was doing, but a moment too late, because he suddenly popped back into view as he skidded over the frictionless surface and slammed into a parked car. He did not get back up. Damian removed the exploding batarangs, and released a handful as he hit the ground midway between Impulse and the villain. 

Weather Wizard seemed to have forgotten about him, because he barely jerked out of the way of the first weapon, which shattered a window behind the villain, and sent glass chunks flying out. Damian was far enough back to be safe from the blast, but Weather Wizard, who had been taken by surprise, was not. He screamed as small chunks of glass impaled themselves in his flesh. He staggered forward, cursing, “Fucking brat. I shoul’da… taken care of you f-first.” He raised his hands and Damian raised another batarang. But Weather Wizard gave himself away with one small twitch of his shoulder. Damian, for once not thinking of his training, dove forward. The icy blast hit him with full force. Damian snarled. His already-injured leg felt as if it were being boiled and crushed at the same time, and the ground came rushing up at him as his whole body now felt the cold. He hit the ground and abruptly felt the blood gushing from where he’d burst his stitches. He blinked, took one breath in, and went limp. 

The next thing he knew was that he was cold. Very cold. And he had lost too much blood— he could feel it dripping, sticky and viscous, down the arm of the Robin suit. Damian blinked open his eyes and looked down. Ah, that explained the cold. From his torso down, he was almost completely enveloped in a layer of ice. Somewhere from his left, Impulse hissed, “Robin. Robin, you awake?” 

Damian blinked away his displeasure and replied lowly, “Yes. Status update, Impulse.” 

For once, the speedster did not object. Maybe it was because Damian’s teeth were doing their best to rattle out of his skull. Surely Father would not object to a little maiming, after all this? Damian realized he had drifted, as Impulse’s voice broke through the haze again. 

“—bin! Hey, you with me? We need to get you outta there. WE need to get ourselves outta here. Oh, this is not crash. Flash is gonna be so pissed.” 

This was just like the time Mother had instructed him to free climb the mountains behind the league’s base. Ah yes. Damian realized he was drifting again, and his teeth were not chattering as much. Not a good sign. He needed to focus. “Batman too,” he said half-deliriously. 

“What?” Impulse asked. He sounded startled. Not what Damian was aiming for. 

“Batman… will be ‘pissed’ as well. I am… n-not supposed to be in the field r-right now. My leg,” Damian managed. For some reason, it felt important to tell Impulse these things. 

There was a brief moment of silence, and then a hissed, “Shit, dude. Oh, this is not good. Okay holdonasecond.” Damian blinked his sluggish eyes and absently twisted his head around at the odd shattering sound. Then Impulse was crouched in front of him. 

“I don’t know how much time we’ve got left until he comes back, or until he calls Flash and Batman. We need to get you out of here,” he said, sounding more serious than Damian had heard him before. It was nice. It was just too bad it had taken something like this for the change to happen. 

“Aren’t… you injured?” Damian ground out. 

Impulse looked startled. “What? No. Speed force, totally crash.” 

Damian shuddered, and cursed as his leg jostled. Impulse’s hands hovered. “Okay, so I’ve never actually done this on a regul— on someone other than myself, or another speedster, so just hang on, ‘kay.” Damian had no time to ask what ‘this’ was, as most of Impulse’s body blurred around him. And suddenly, Damian understood. He felt almost as he had earlier, when he had dodged the lightning. But it did not matter, as suddenly, Damian was warm again. He sat up without even a grunt and rose to his feet. Or he would have, if his ankle did not behave traitorously. Impulse pulled one of Robin’s arms around his shoulder. 

“I do not need your assistance!” Damian snarled, pushing off Impulse. Unfortunately, Father seemed to have been right (again) about knowing one’s limits. Damian crashed to the floor. Impulse stood over him. 

“Those are some impressive curses. What language is that?” 

“Arabic,” Damian answered, surly. He pushed himself up, and this time, accepted Impulse’s arm. 

“Crash. What’s the plan for getting outta here?” 

Damian thought for a moment. To call Father… would both be a moment of weakness, and backfire on Damian’s plans. No, that was not an option. For similar reasons, that eliminated Drake. Todd… no, that did not even bear thinking over. So that left… “Nightwing. He… may be able to assist us. But first, we must hide ourselves.” 

“Right. I was just thinking. I saw some boxes in the corner. Would those work?” 

Damian was unsure. But he said, “For now” and hoped that today was one of the days Grayson decided to pick up right away. 

The two young heroes limped to the stack of boxes and clambered awkwardly behind them. Damian half-squatted, half-leaned against Impulse. Damian removed his comm. “Nightwing, this is Robin. I am in need of immediate assistance. Repeat, immediate assistance required. Please respond.” There was no reply. Damian hissed. Impulse let out one small breath. 

“Okay, so that was a bust. Do you think you can make it out of here?” 

Damian scowled down at his leg. “It would… require more energy than is reasonable. You should leave without me.” 

Impulse was silent a moment, as if shocked by the idea. In his state, Damian allowed for an eye-roll. The Flashes really were not well-equipped for battle. Even Father would have seen the practicality of Damian’s suggestion. “Well, for obvious reasons, dude, I’m not going to do that. Batman would kill me for one. So, new plan.” 

“Fine,” Damian snapped. 

As he was about to say more, a loud crash echoed throughout the spacious room. Damian hushed. Impulse, behind him, stilled. “GODDAMN IT! Knew I should’ve locked them up,” came the voice of Weather Wizard. Damian suddenly had an idea. He silently slid one hand down to his belt, to the third container on the left. That was where he had stored some of the more potent sleeping-gas pellets he had… borrowed from Father. Maybe, with Impulse’s speed it could be a viable plan. Impulse felt Damian’s movements, but did not move, not even a curious jerk of his head. Once Damian had retrieved the items, he bent forward so his lips were practically pressed to Impulse’s ear. 

“I have several knock out pellets here. Take them. Their activation is simple: throw them down, close to the target, and hold your breath. Go.” Impulse nodded, and Damian slid the pellets into his hand. 

As soon as Impulse had the pellets, he disappeared. Damian heard one surprised exclamation, and a loud thud, before Impulse called, “I gotta get me some of those!” Damian extracted himself from their hiding location and stood, resting his weight casually on the shelf. He peered down at the knocked-out villain and smirked. 

“Yes, they are rather useful at times. Though I prefer the old-fashioned method.” 

Impulse looked at him for a moment and shuddered. “Creepy, dude. Creepy.” 

There was a moment of silence. The pain in Damian’s leg returned with vengeance. He recalled, abruptly, that he was benched. Damian hissed. “I imagine that even you are capable of watching Weather Wizard until the authorities arrive?” he asked, forcing more bite into his tone. 

“Yeah, why? Do you need to leave?” Impulse asked, not put out in the least. Damian would have to change that. 

“Yes. I am, technically, not allowed in the field for the moment, and so it would be prudent to return before my absence is noted. Please notify me when Weather Wizard has been dealt with.” 

“Sure. Sure,” Impulse muttered. As Damian retrieved the teleport beacon from his belt, he heard Impulse mutter, “Oh, Barry is going to kill me. If Batman doesn’t first.” Damian smirked, vanishing. 

As he rematerialized in the cave, he allowed one small hiss to escape his lips. He was not overly displeased with himself for it, since the mission had gone… satisfactorily, and he appeared to have pulled it off without Father’s notice. However, he would need to come up with something to tell Grayson; perhaps he could tell him it was a ‘school problem’ as Grayson seemed to think that those qualified as emergencies. He would be angry that Damian had used the comms. but that was easily explained. Yes, it seemed that all had gone well. 

As Damian limped toward the medical supplies— his leg and arm needed attending— the computer chair spun around. Damian stilled. He had not noticed Father. He was sitting, mask on, and could not hide the tension in his muscles. “Flash just called me,” he said evenly. Damian’s pulse spiked. Often, it was Father’s more-calm-sounding tones that were most dangerous. “He said something about Impulse and Robin working together to take on Weather Wizard.” 

Damian swallowed. “I—” 

Father stood and swept him up in a hug. Then he lifted Damian into his arms. He said slowly, “I’m glad it went well, and that you’re unhurt. You’re also never leaving the cave again… Now, let’s go get you patched up.”


End file.
